Wishing on Stars
by Anlynne
Summary: All she had to do was let go, give up her Gryffindor title. She didn't deserve it anyhow.


No Copyright Infringement Intended

Wishing on Stars

In the glass-like reflection of the lake the moon was in pieces. Distorted bits of ivory in black ripples. It should have been beautiful, but Hermione Granger only saw it as a depressing representation of her life, at least that in her sixth year at Hogwarts.

People always said that life wasn't fair. As a child you want to ask, "why? Who made it so? Can it be fix?" As every child grows older it was plain that it was and unchangeable characteristic flaw of life. Many people made it worse, and so anyone who cared to fi it, would undeniably fail.

She was lucky, being shielded from the unfairness personally. She had seen it though, mostly in her best friend, Harry. The trouble and horror of his life was given at birth, and he fought it every day. He was trained, expectant, and she... She could barely handle the minimal heartbreak.

Against the cool autumn wind that brushed past she curled her legs to her chest. She stared transfixed upon the lake, not caring if she was past curfew, or if she was dressed only in her pajamas, a blue robe over her. She hardly cared for much anymore, she just wished to be numb from all the pain.

Ron was her other best friend. Freckled, immature, red-headed weasel. He dated their fellow classmate and Gryffindor, Lavender. It was not like Hermione hated her, but she wasn't for him. They clashed in the way that Lavender was too possessive, too happy. She wasn't for him, and Hermione desperately wanted him to see that it was her he really wanted, who would be perfect for him. Alas, those hopes were in vain. She would never destroy his happiness, or be the cause of his affliction if he was to break up with her, especially over her.

Many days it felt like her heart was literally breaking. If she wasn't wishing for the impossible, she was wishing it would give up. every time she saw his reluctance, the pictures he took with her, his sadness, his happiness, with her. Ron could never know how deeply Hermione loved him. She would never hurt him, not the way Lavender would. Never. And he would never know.

_"Lavender is all over me," Ron complained one day in the common room as she corrected his potions homework. "C'mon, tell me, Hermione, how do you tell a girl to back of? You're one, you should know."_

_She shot him a look that would make a Basilisk shed his skin, and then she did the most honorable thing she could. She helped him._

_"Talk with her about it. Be honest, but _tactful_. Things will be okay. You'll see."_

If that wasn't plenty she had begun to realize her feelings for someone else. Someone new.

He was beautiful, everything about him. His ego, his smile, his sneer, the way he confidently carried himself. At the same time she saw his weakness, and the act he put on, for he didn't truly hate her. Whether he felt the same as she did... She didn't know.

One day her feelings for Ron would fade. They had to, they weren't meant for each other. If they were, he would not torture himself by staying with Lavender, by staying away from her. Yet her feelings for Malfoy... She cursed herself, for she didn't know. Her whole life was knocked upside down. None of it was _supposed _to happen. She should _know._

What did one do? How did one cope when one cared for two people, and both of them cared for others?

Hermione saw how he looked at her. Because of her, he changed, he had more swagger, and more hope. She longed to see him look at her that way - just once, to know she had done some good for him. She wanted him, and she covered it every day. She couldn't let the wound that she was healing from Ron open again. What if he didn't feel the same? What if he rejected her entirely? What if she finally died of the damage done to her heart?

Stinging tears welled up in her eyes, and spilled over, streaking her cheeks. She shuddered, but not because of another gust of wind, but because of fear. She wasn't one to fall in love easily, so what was wrong with her? Forget fixing the unfairness of the world, she would settle for her fixing herself.

Hermione stood shakily to her feet. Without a second thought she slipped off her robe and scuffed trainers. she felt the grass prickle between her toes as she walked towards the lake. The water lapped at her feet, ankles, shin, her knees. She pushed deeper, her cheery bottoms and top soaking and cleaving to her figure. She didn't have her wand, but she wasn't afraid. After the tearing of one of her most vital organs, death did not seem so bad. She was already drowning in sorrow, it would be appropriate...

The night sky was sprinkled with tiny cut stars. She floated on her back, her hands skimming the smooth surface trying to count them. They were all different and special, she was certain, but what was always distinguishable and present was the moon. It was her light, her comfort. No matter the pain during the days at night it would be there, even if it wasn't visible, some sliver of it would shine the next night. She could live through the shooting stars, the disappearing of them, because they were one of many, but her moon... It wasn't hers. How many others longed for it like she?

If she let go, allowed herself to sink, and if she took a deep breath, maybe it would all go away. It was simple. It wouldn't last five minutes. All she had to do was let go, give up her Gryffindor title. She didn't deserve it anyhow.

At first she thought he was a figment of her imagination. His hair was whiter than usual caused by the light of the dear crescent, his pointed face relaxed, and for once unguarded. He was utterly and unarguably the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Hermione continued to float, peering at him through her tear vision. If she said something she would say it wrong, and he would go. She wanted him to stay, and such a despairing wish that was. He would never stay.

Like she had done, he freed himself of his shoes, but unlike hers they were expensive and gleaming black leather. Next, he took off his shirt, leaving his jeans on. He stepped into the lake, approaching her, and she prayed he couldn't hear the erratic pumping in her chest.

Without a word he placed his warm hands on her back, lifting her ever so slightly. she smiled and groaned at his touch, better than she had ever dreamed. She dared and closed her eyes, her wavy hair splayed out.

"Relax, Hermione. Let it carry you."

His deep drawling voice, scratchy for a reason she couldn't place. She did as he said with little hesitancy. Muscles she didn't know were tense, loosened. She let him and the surrounding water carry her.

"How does it feel?"

Opening her brown orbs she watched as he moved her in a slow circle. "Right," she answered, and pressed her unbelievable luck. "How does it feel to you?"

He didn't answer, instead he kissed the wet material above her naval. Involuntarily, she moaned.

She wished.... She would give anything... Silently, she begged for him to want her as badly as she wanted him. It was not possible, but she wished on every single star peering down upon them, that he would.

A gradual, endless circle. He didn't tremble or release her, he supported her the whole way, and she began weeping, fear creeping over her. Did she do the same for him? It was doubtful, he loved _her_, Pansy. Not her, Hermione.

Gently he lifted her, and her feet sunk into the mud, where the grass had pricked, the mud encased. She knew what was coming and she shook her head as if it would change. His feelings were set, his choice made, and none of it was for her. She could have reached into her chest and take the jagged pieces and throw them to the heavens where they would join the others. Lost dreams lost loves, lost people that were never found.

He held her hands, gazed down at her. Bravely she memorized his silver pupils, the streaks of dark gray and light making a storm. For a moment, she saw into his soul, and if she truly desired it, she could have leaned up and caressed his lips with hers. She did desire it, a flame in her abdomen. However, it was another piece she couldn't have. He wasn't hers, and that moment, it was worth any of the anguish she would suffer, that she was suffering.

Hermione didn't try to keep his hands in hers, he didn't belong to her, and if it was _her_ he wanted... It was _her_ he would have. She wanted him happy above everything else. A part of him (even the smallest part) she liked to believe belonged to her. His friendship was better than nothing. Without him... She couldn't process the rest of that thought, it was too painful, the shredding of her insides. How could it be that no one could see that? Wasn't she a window? Was that not were bad liars were?

His fingertips grazed hers and he turned from her, his head bowed as if in shame. She forced herself to watch the tendons in his back ripple with his rejection in his motion. His jeans clung to him, dripping water from the hems. He bent to throw his shirt over his head, and he didn't look to her. Not once. He walked from her, certainty in his steps, proof that he didn't want her.

A knife carved stars, ones that would shine the brightest in the sky, and she breathed, the cold of the night sending sharp pangs in her deprived lungs. "I love you, Draco."

* * *

A Special Authors Note to Kamarile: Happy birthday with endless love. I wish I could have given you something more substantial, but I hope this means something. You're my shining moon and without you I'd be shrouded in darkness with my only broken pieces of light. My sweet Aes Sedai, I wish on every star for your happiness. I love you.


End file.
